


Bated Breath

by tinybabydeer



Category: One Direction (Band), The Voice (Ireland) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, External Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 11:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybabydeer/pseuds/tinybabydeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was funny how Bressie’s memories could play tricks on him.</p><p>Between the dreams and the drinks, he couldn’t remember who reached out first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bated Breath

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a big ol' thing for me. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> It vaguely follows the canonical timeline but obviously takes some liberties.
> 
> Thank you to Alyssa for holding my hand through the process and screaming about Nessie with me.
> 
> There is a soundtrack to this fic [here](http://8tracks.com/kendrawcandraw/bated-breath)
> 
> Title is from "Bated Breath" by Tinashe.

\---

2013

 

Niall’s face was blotchy red. His eyes were the color of the sky, stormy and fever-bright.

Bressie couldn’t catch his breath, heart pounding a sickening rhythm in his chest and making his lungs shake. Each wet track that snaked down Niall’s face was drowning him.

“Look me in the eye and tell me to go, Brez.” He was saying, but Bressie could barely hear him over the tides that threatened to sweep him under. He couldn’t do anything but stare at Niall’s hands, the callouses from the guitar that he taught him how to play. They were shaking. They were making fists.

He wanted Niall to punch him, to scream and fight and hate him and storm away from here and never call. But he just cried, tears that Bressie wasn’t allowed to wipe away, streaking down a face he couldn’t hold. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry.” He heard himself saying, distantly, muffled and cold.

He barely saw Niall leave. He barely felt the wall when he slumped against it. He barely felt anything as he slipped under the water.

 

\---

2010

 

He showed up on his doorstep, lit with blinding, unseasonably warm sun.

"I need you to teach me guitar."

Bressie blinked sluggishly, eyes sticky with sleep and wincing against the glare. "G’morning Niall, how are ye." He croaked dryly. It was too early for this.

Niall huffed a breath impatiently and started again. "Hey ya, Brez, good morning, how'd you sleep," he said in a blandly polite voice, but he could only be so sarcastic, and the dimple in his cheek twitched.

"Alright, smartarse, that's more like it."

"I need you to teach me guitar." Niall repeated, more firmly this time, gesturing with the guitar Bressie was just noticing he was holding. Niall's eyes were sharp as glass, mouth set in a line. Bressie paused, staring at him for a moment.

He hummed, considering, and scratched his belly. Turning away and yawning, he stepped away from the door and lazily waved him inside. "'Mon, then, quit standing on my step lookin' like a lost little puppy."

Niall protested loudly at comment, and punched his arm ineffectually as he walked inside. Bressie retaliated by putting his hand squarely on his face and pushing him away, making him squawk and burst into laughter.

Bressie's Mullingar flat was modestly decorated, if you wanted to be generous. Truth be told he just had no idea how to furnish a place and settled for comfortable, mismatched furniture too small for him and piles of books and magazines and torn out articles about footie and rugby that he was saving for... something. It was all a bit of a mess.

Niall didn't mind though, pushing a pile of takeaway napkins off a squashy couch cushion and perching on it like a canary, plucking enthusiastically at his guitar, which was. Painful. At best.

"Woah there, chief, where'd you get this thing?" Bressie said, brow furrowing at the discordant notes being wrestled out of its strings. Niall looked up, crooked smile blinding.

"Bloke at school gave it to me! Didn't even ask for any money for it!"

Bressie muttered a "thank god for that" under his breath which Niall didn't catch. "It's, uh, a real piece of work, mate. Needs a bit of tuning."

“That’s why you’re here, big head.”

“I’m here because this is my _home_.”

Niall rolled his eyes dramatically and Bressie tried to look stern. Someone had to be realistic here.

“Seriously, mate, it needs tuning, probably new strings… This ain’t exactly a Les Paul, chief. It needs some real work.”

In spite of his earlier gusto, Niall was beginning to deflate, eyes going wide and watery. Panic twitched in Bressie’s chest and he softened instantly, bringing his hands up soothingly and shushing him. 

“Oh, c’mon, don’t look like that, I can help you, I’ll help,” he said in a rush, stepping around to fold his frame down next to Niall, somehow dwarfing both him and the tiny couch itself. Niall flushed and sniffed loudly but glared, without any real heat.

“Shut up, ‘mnot looking like anything, I just-...” Niall huffed out a breath, blowing a bit of fringe out of his eyes. “I’m gonna audition for X Factor.”

Bressie blinked. A horn honked somewhere outside.

“That’s… yeah, mate, that’ll be great!” 

Niall brightened instantly, cheeks pinked and smile only slightly wobbly now. “Y’think?”

Bressie clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him clean off the couch. “Of course I think! You’re a talent! You’ll do Mullingar proud, wontcha?”

Niall cackled, bashfully scrubbing at the back of his neck where the bottle-blonde was growing out dark. “High praise from Niall bleedin’ Breslin, eh?” Niall said, biting his lip to contain the grin that threatened to split his face in two. Bressie’s heart thrummed.

“Cheeky fucker,” he snorted, shoving him lightly. Niall’s laugh was loud in the stuffy flat, bouncing off the walls, always did. Louder than people ever laughed in normal life, brashly un-self conscious peals that drew people to him in the same way that moths were drawn to lanterns. Like they didn’t understand but had to get closer to orbit his light.

Bressie knew Niall already knew how to play a bit, but he helped him restring that piece of kindling he insisted on playing, showed him how to move his fingers the right way, how to strum in patterns.

By the time Niall left, the sun was setting, and Niall had blisters on his fingertips that he showed off like battle scars. He gave him a crushing hug as high as he could reach, which of course was barely around his ribs, but Bressie could feel it settle into his bones as he waved him off down the road. 

There was an itch, sinking into his guts. It was a shivery little thing, wobbling like a newborn animal and nudging at him between his lungs.

Bressie cleared his throat and blinked rapidly in his darkening flat. 

“Must have been bad takeaway,” he said, to no one.

\---

Niall showed up on his TV, gleefully playing his shite guitar for people standing around waiting to audition.

He got through the auditions round. 

And the next one.

And Bressie realized he might not see him back in Mullingar for a while.

 

\---

2011

 

The phone rang in the middle of the night. Rubbing his eyes blearily, Bressie cursed as he saw the red glare of “03:24AM” on his bedside alarm and almost muted the ringer, knowing full well it was barely two hours before he had to get up to train anyway. He pawed for his mobile, squinting at the harsh glare of the screen before sitting up bolt upright. It was Niall. He was suddenly a whole lot more awake. 

He punched the “accept” button and tried to clear the grogginess from his throat. “H’lo?”

“Hi ya Brez,” Niall said immediately. His voice was tight, high and nervous. Bressie could practically could see him fidgeting and biting his nails.

“Hey chief, you alright?” he said, awkwardly coughing as his voice cracked.

“Shit, I’m sorry mate, what time is it there? Did I wake you up?” Niall said, instantly apologetic and worried, but Bressie cut him off as quickly as he could.

“Niall, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. What’s going on? Everything alright?”

Niall made a strange hum in the back of his throat, like he was struggling to sound casual but couldn’t actually get the words out. Bressie’s stomach sank. Something was wrong. Something happened. He glanced at the clock, wondering how quickly he could get a flight to wherever the hell Niall was right now.

“Um-” Niall started, still sounding choked. “It’s not a big deal, it really isn’t, I’m fine, everyone’s fine. We just-” Niall coughed, stalling for time, sounding tinny and achingly far away on the line. “There was a huge crowd after our gig tonight. Massive, really! It- it was awesome. Completely mad, but, there were so many people Brez, and when we left it just-”

Bressie’s heart clenched painfully as Niall cleared his throat again, trying to cover the cracking of his voice. “No one was hurt or anything, promise, but I just… I freaked out. I couldn’t breathe and there were just so many people and I was afraid it was never going to end and I just-”

“Panic attack.” Bressie breathed, feeling cold.

“Yeah.” Niall said quietly. “The lads were there, and our bodyguards, and it was okay though, they calmed me down a bit so we could leave but Jesus, Brez, I’m still all shaken up about it.” He laughed a bit, a hollow, choked up sort of sound. Bressie breathed, shutting his eyes and trying to calm down.

“Christ, Niall, I’m sorry mate. Believe me when I say I know what that’s like.”

Niall was quiet for a moment, Bressie barely able to hear his breathing on the other end. “Is that what it’s like for you, when you get them? How d'you deal with it?”

“Well, I basically sit there bricking it, to be honest.” Bressie said dryly, which earned him a surprised bark of laughter from Niall. “I dunno mate, I’ve spoken to doctors and the like, I exercise more to help control it, but anything can set it off. It’s hard, when it happens in public. It just feels like I’m-”

“Drowning.” Niall said, suddenly. Bressie nodded, before remembering that he couldn’t see him.

“Yeah. Like drowning.”

They were quiet for a long moment, but it wasn’t as tense as before. Niall’s breathing was steadier, more even, and the sound of it was making him relax in turn, starting to doze back off in his dark bedroom. Niall’s voice startled him back into wakefulness.

“Thanks, big.” he said, soft and hushed. “Miss your stupid head.”

Bressie snorted. “Miss you too, chief. Take it easy, right? Keep that head above water.”

He could almost hear Niall smile, from thousands of miles away. “I’m a good swimmer.” 

 

\---

2012 

 

He had dreams.

There was sunlight, so bright it made his eyes hurt, but warm, indistinct shapes were holding him close, before he realized that he was slowly falling

He landed in the ocean, every time. Sinking like a stone, eyes still fixed on the way the light was dancing on the surface, glittering and shining and just out of reach, the blue-green waves swallowing him whole and-

And he woke up, every time, painfully hard and already grinding into the mattress, nerve endings on fire. He came, every time, breathless and confused and dizzy with lingering visions of sunlight and someone’s arms wrapping around him and pulling him under.

 

\---

2010

 

“Harry came up with it.”

“It’s a fine name.”

Niall’s deep sigh blustered through the earpiece on his mobile. “Eoghan said it sounds like ‘Wand Erection’.”

Bressie deserved some sort of medal for biting back his laugh just in time, and coughed lightly to cover his arse. “Eoghan’s a tit. Did he tell you he almost put a pint glass through the telly last time Simon made so much as a constructive critique of your performance?”

He could practically hear Niall start to smile on the other end of the line. They were on a break from filming, squirreled away somewhere for band-bonding or something. Niall had been trying to fill him in on everything that had been happening, but it was all a bit excited and rushed and Bressie could barely follow.

“I knew he was taking the piss. I like the name, and so does everyone else.” Niall said stubbornly. Bressie could hear wind blowing through the line, and he suddenly desperately wished he was… somewhere aside from his flat in Dublin.

“You’re doing great, chief. Gonna be a big star.” Bressie said earnestly, absent-mindedly picking at the label on his Stella to burn off the inexplicable anxious energy that was settling in his stomach. Niall began to answer, but was cut off by a racket of voices, loudly joking and hollering. 

“Who’s on the phone, Nialler?” Bressie could hear through the din, a voice he didn’t know, and smiled to himself as he could hear Niall protesting and clearly trying to keep his mobile from being wrestled away from him.

“Augh, Louis, _gerroff_ \- Brez? I gotta go, I’ll call you later, yeah?” Niall said, breathless and failing to sound annoyed through his laughter, from where he was clearly at the bottom of a dogpile of bandmates.

“‘Course, mate, give ‘em hell.” Bressie said, smiling only a little ruefully as the call was abruptly ended and Niall’s laughter was cut off completely.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and he tossed his phone onto the countertop, suddenly tired and ears ringing in the silence of his flat. It was decorated when he bought it, minimal and all chrome and black and hardwood. He kind of hated it.

The itch was back in his bones, leaving him feel unsettled and jumpy, and it felt like a revelation when he realized he missed Niall.

A revelation of what?

 

\---

2012

 

_Call failed._

_Call failed._

_Voicemail._

 

\---

2013

 

Bressie heard from Eoghan that Niall was back in town, flitting between London and Mullingar, visiting family and bar-hopping with the crew.

“That’s nice.”

He didn’t appreciate the long-suffering sigh on the other end of his mobile. “Well, are you going to see him?”

Bressie pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to focus on his email inbox, feeling a headache coming on. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And why not?”

“We’re… not talking right now.”

Eoghan cursed colorfully and Bressie thought be could hear something break on the other end. “Brez-”

“It’s fine, mate, it is. It’s better this way.”

“Who thinks so? You? Certainly not,” Eoghan snorted and Bressie hated him a bit.

“Eoghan-”

“He’s going back on tour soon. I’m just saying you should talk to him. Before he fucks off into the great wide yonder again.”

Bressie slammed his laptop shut with more force than strictly necessary. “And how do you suggest I do that? Just ring him up and ask if he wants to hang out?”

He could hear the rustle of Eoghan’s shrug through the earpiece. “Why not?”

\---

Bressie deleted six different iterations of the same text before finally punching send.

_To Niall: Hey, chief. Heard you were heading on tour again soon, you free tonight?_

It took thirty-three minutes for Niall to respond.

_yeah , cmon over_

 

\---

2012

 

It was funny how Bressie’s memories could play tricks on him.

Between the dreams and the drinks, he couldn’t remember who reached out first.

 

\---

2010

 

Niall was crying, deep hiccuping sobs, and Bressie was letting him.

“We did really well, we tried so hard,” he hiccuped, sniffling wetly.

“You did, Niall, don’t forget that.”

He heard a shaky, blubbering sigh on the other end. “Then why didn’t we _win_?”

It was Bressie’s turn to sigh, attempting to rub the tension out of his brow. His chest hurt, aching in sympathy for the boys’ loss on X Factor. He was going to have words with… someone. Probably righteously indignant ones with Eoghan at the pub later.

“I dunno, chief. It sucks, it really does.”

Niall sniffed again, wallowing a bit in self-pity. “We worked really hard. It’s- It’s not fair.”

Bressie smiled, just a bit at that, and he was glad Niall couldn’t see it because it probably wouldn’t have seemed very sympathetic.

“I know it, mate. But think of it this way, you lot are going to grow from this, be even better, way better than you could even be from being the winner.”

Niall snorted. “How’s that then? We lost.”

“I have a feeling mate.” Bressie said seriously. “Do you trust me?”

There was a long pause. Bressie could hear Niall shuffling a bit on the line, probably fidgeting in the way he always did.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then believe me. It’s going to be alright.”

Another pause.

“Yeah. Alright.” Niall said quietly. There was a moment, then he huffed a bit of a laugh. “Don’t you let me down, big head.”

Bressie smiled to himself. 

“I’ll try not to.”

 

\---

2012

 

They stumbled into Bressie’s flat, so late it was early, grey streaks of dawn just starting to bloom on the horizon. Niall couldn’t stop giggling, hand plastered over his face to try to muffle the sound. Bressie wasn’t doing much better, though, to be honest.

The Olympics lock-in had finally dissolved after there was a serious concern over a beer shortage and everyone was too drunk and tired to riot about it. Bressie and Niall had stumbled home through the streets of London, hanging off each others shoulders and raucously singing. It wasn’t clear if they were singing the same song. It didn’t matter.

Niall collapsed onto Bressie’s couch, still a little giggly, as Bressie went to the fridge to grab two more beers. At this point more beer couldn’t hurt, he reasoned.

He padded into the living room, belatedly toeing his shoes off and kicking them vaguely in the direction of the front door. Niall was still sprawled across the couch, an arm thrown lazily over his eyes, grinning at… something. Bressie’s eyes caught on the pale sliver of skin peeking out from the hem of his shirt as it rode up, the vee of his pelvis bookended by the delicate jut of hipbones. A line of hair, barely noticeable, disappeared into his waistband and something about it made Bressie’s blood run hot. 

“You fall asleep standin’ up now, big head?” Niall murmured, grinning, an eye barely visible staring back at him from under the crook of his elbow. Bressie blinked rapidly and snorted.

“Just wonderin’ how I’m gonna sit on me own damn couch with this pop star pile of bones thrown all over it,” he retorted, sticking the butt end of the icy beer bottle against the exposed skin and cackling as Niall yelped and sat up sharply, grabbing the bottle away.

“You’re cruel and a bully, I’m your guest,” Niall sulked, sticking out his lip as he unscrewed the cap. The muscles in his forearm bulged. Bressie told himself he didn’t notice.

Bressie sat on the couch with a sigh, head swimming pleasantly as he cracked open his own bottle. “Sounds like the fame's all finally going to your head, Nialler. All these demands, you’ve really forgotten where you came from.”

Niall barked a laugh, tipping his head back and taking a long pull from the beer. Bressie’s eyes lingered on the way his throat bobbed, pale column of it exposed and nearly glowing in the dim light. He rubbed at his eyes. He must be more drunk than he thought.

Niall was talking, he realized. “Yeh, it’s all champagne and roses in the bus now,” he said sagely, nodding his head very seriously. “I gotta start living up to my standards.”

Bressie hummed into his beer. “Diamond-encrusted everything,” he added helpfully.

“Chocolate truffles and… gold-plated toilets.”

“Not at th’same time, I hope.”

Niall laughed again, and Bressie smiled in return. God he had missed his laugh. It made this cold flat feel more like home.

Niall was slumped on the couch, leaning more and more heavily on Bressie’s arm, warm and familiar. He tipped the last dregs of foam into his mouth, and Bressie found his gaze caught on the shine of his lip where it met the bottle, pink and inviting. The spell was broken as Niall tipped forward, clumsily resting the bottle on the ground with a too-hard clink. 

Sitting back, Niall rolled his head around to meet Bressie’s gaze, eyes hooded and sleepy from drink. He was flushed, hair fallen from its quiff and curling around his temples. He looked- Brez blinked. He looked... something.

A smile was tugging on the corner of Niall’s mouth, coy and far more smug than he should be looking right now. “You’re staring,” he drawled.

“Am I?” Bressie said uselessly, blinking again.

Niall _mm-hmm_ ’d and nodded, eyes still locked on Bressie’s. It was making him a little nervous. 

He barely noticed when Niall slowly reached out and plucked his beer from his fingers, drawing it to his mouth and taking a long, slow pull from it without breaking his gaze. The air suddenly felt hotter, and Bressie's mind was dragging a minute behind everything that was happening.

So he wasn’t really to blame when suddenly they were kissing.

Niall’s lips were cold and sour from the beer, already opening against his and accepting his tongue hungrily, pushing forward and greedy for it. Bressie felt his hand come up and rake through the short hair on the back of his head, digging in and tugging just enough to make Niall’s breath hitch against his mouth.

He could feel Niall’s hands, fingertips rough from guitar strings, wrap around the back of his neck and hang on, pulling Bressie closer and digging into the muscle. He was lost in the feeling of Niall’s tongue, hot and sweet, sinking into his mouth, the way his own stubble dragged against the already-pinking skin of his cheeks.

He lost track of time, high on sensation and head still spinning from alcohol. At some point, they’d stopped kissing and Niall had fallen dead-asleep against his shoulder, snoring softly. Bressie’s arms were still wrapped around him, and as the boozey fog began to lift, his traitorous mind finally caught up with the rest of him.

Shit.

“Shit.”

\---

Niall padded into the kitchen the next morning, sleepily rubbing his eyes and looking so nervous and tentatively happy that Bressie had to look away, instead focusing on the laces of his running shoes.

“Morning, chief, coffee’s in the pot if you need it,” he said gruffly, straightening and stretching, looking anywhere but Niall’s face. He knew it was starting to fall, knew the way his brow would be knitting together in confusion.

“Oh, uh-” Niall started, clearing his throat and running a fidgety hand through his messy hair. Bressie determinedly did not think about how he knew exactly what it felt like to do that now. “Are you going for a run?”

“Yeah, gotta keep up with my training, I’ve been slacking.” Bressie said breezily, heading toward the door. He didn’t meet Niall’s eyes, he didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m gonna be out for a bit, I know you’re busy, so just lock up when you leave, alright?” he called from the door, and stepped out.

Niall hadn’t said a word, and as Bressie latched the door, he hadn’t moved an inch.

 

\---

2010

 

He showed up, almost every day, and played until his fingers split.

“You’ll get callouses eventually,” Bressie explained, wrapping up his fingers with a plaster. “You just have to build a thicker skin.”

Niall flinched and squirmed, nursing his hurt hands. “So it’s just going to suck until then?”

Bressie snorted. “Yeah mate, it’s gonna suck pretty bad. That’s how you know it’s working.”

 

\---

2012

 

Bressie ran.

He ran until he couldn’t feel the weight of Niall’s hands on the back of his neck.

Until he couldn’t remember the way he leaned into his touch, the bump of his nose against Bressie’s, the click of teeth in their kiss, the bitter linger of beer on his tongue against his.

He ran until he couldn’t see the way his eyes looked into his, glassy bottle-blue and sharp and sure and hot.

He ran until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out and he heaved an empty stomach on the side of the road, waving away a car that slowed down to make sure he was okay.

But as he gasped for air, hunched and dripping sweat, he couldn’t forget the way that Niall just stood in his kitchen and watched him leave.

 

\---

2010

 

Niall wasn’t allowed to answer his phone while they were filming, so Bressie settled for leaving long, rambling voicemails, about the show, about music and how he was recording again, about Mullingar and how he’d seen Bobby the other day.

He knew Niall would probably never get the chance to listen to him, but he left them anyway.

 

\---

2012

 

It started out fine. 

He was going to Tesco for roast and milk and the like, just to attempt a real Sunday dinner for once. He was feeling frayed from running about, still coming down from Pat’s win on The Voice and attempting to plan his own next album, but all things considered, things were going great. All-time highs.

He was actually humming to himself as he waited in line. He felt his eyes drifting, distracted, and time seemed to slow as they landed on the tabloid rack and he saw Niall staring back at him.

He felt his heart hit painfully in his chest, sluggish and halting at first before speeding up so suddenly he felt faint. He couldn’t read what the headline was. It didn’t matter.

The room wobbled. 

He’d been good, he’d been doing the right thing, he hadn’t seen him or spoken to him but there’s only so far you can fucking run when the man you’re in- 

His brain froze, and it hit him like a sack of bricks.

He was completely, arse-over-tit, stupid in love with Niall.

He felt sick he felt sick and the room was shaking like the tube was running underground. A hand touched his arm and he flinched away from it.

“Brother, are y’alright?” He heard distantly from his right. He looked, dazed, at the face of the old man next to him.

“I’m fine,” he said. Or maybe he just thought it. His scalp was crawling, burning hot and he could feel himself breaking into a sweat like he’d just run for miles.

He felt sick he couldn’t breathe he had to get out. He was having an anxiety attack, a voice was logically telling him in his head, but it felt far away and unreachable and he still couldn’t _breathe_ -

The next thing he knew was he was outside in the freezing sleet, there was a car honking at him and he realized seconds before being flattened that he’d stumbled into the street. Taking deep, desperate gulps of air he staggered back onto the sidewalk, pressing a shaking hand to his rabbit-fast heartbeat. He felt like he was underwater, lungs burning.

People were staring, asking if he was okay, and he just shook his head again and again.

He ran home, empty-handed, and threw up.

 

\---

2013

 

Bressie avoided Mullingar. It was easy, between working in Dublin and traveling to London, there was no real reason to go back.

He trained harder. He worked later. He slept as little as he could to avoid the dreams that still left him shaking and breathless.

He was haunted by visions of sunlight, and the feeling of blue eyes, hard as glass, staring back at him.

 

\---

2012

 

He was somewhere between four and six pints deep, he thought. Lost track a bit. It was harder to count ‘em when the bartender kept taking the empties away.

Laura was saying something, or telling a story, and Eoghan was cackling and slapping Bressie’s shoulder. It was hard to concentrate.

She reached the end of whatever story she was telling and stared expectantly at Bressie, giggling and waiting for him to laugh. He belatedly smiled, shaking his head like he was clearing water from his ears. “Eh, sorry Laura, I missed just about all of that. I think I’m a bit knackered.”

Laura rolled her eyes and heaved an unfairly dramatic sigh. “Jesus, Brez, talking to you lately is like talking to a brick wall. Has your feeble old mind finally gone or are you just too nice to tell me my stories aren’t funny?”

“Bit of both, to be honest,” Eoghan piped up and was rewarded with a painful-looking punch on the arm. “Augh, Christ, woman, keep those pointy little devil hands to yourself, I know I look like a brick shithouse but I’m really a delicate bloke.”

Bressie chuckled a bit as she ruthlessly punched him twice more for cheek, and stuck his nose back in his pint glass. It was unfair of him to feel this lonely surrounded by his closest friends. He was happy to catch up, it’d been ages since the LIC had been able to hang out all together.

Of course, they were one short.

Laura was scrolling on her phone through Instagram, making scoffing noises and _aww_ ’s where appropriate. Suddenly, she cooed loudly and stuck the screen in Bressie’s face. It, of course, was Niall.

“Where even is our wee lad?” she said, lip stuck out in a comical pout, pulling the phone almost instantly back to pour over the caption. Bressie shrugged and kept his face very, very neutral. _Sydney. He’s in Sydney_.

“Sydney! Lucky bastard, I wish I were in the bleeding tropics! Beaches, sun-”

“Girls…” Eoghan added, waggling his eyebrows. Bressie coughed mid-swallow and spat beer across the bar as Laura groaned. “Whaaat? They’re probably eating our ‘wee Niall’ alive, pale skinny thing that he is!”

Bressie continued coughing, choking on the foam that he’d inhaled and fighting the crawling feeling of panic snaking up his spine. Eoghan pounded on his back unhelpfully.

“It’s not a bad thing, honestly I’d be more worried if he _wasn’t_ sowing those wild oats!” Laura rolled her eyes at Eoghan but shot Bressie a concerned look as he continued to sputter. He had to get it together just long enough to change the subject but his heart was beating uncomfortably quick and he couldn’t seem to find enough words to string together a coherent sentence.

“Do you think he has a punch card for 'em all? Or maybe a rota?” Eoghan rambled into his pint, looking dreamily into space.

“Eoghan, stop.” Bressie bit out, staring into his glass.

“He’s a fit, healthy lad! He’s bound to have-”

“ _Eoghan!_ ” 

The bar went a bit quiet, and Bressie could feel curious, nervous eyes land on his back. He wasn’t the guy anyone wanted starting a fight in a bar. Shit. His eyes were closed, struggling to get his breathing to steady and trying not to look at his startled friends.

Eoghan cleared his throat, barely audible over the din that had almost immediately picked back up. “Brez, mate, I was just takin’ the piss, I didn’t mean-”

Bressie shook his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and feeling dizzy from the booze, skin crawling, and then-

“‘M in love with him.”

As the words left his mouth, for a heady moment, Bressie felt like he was falling. Like when you tip too far back in a chair and gravity catches you for a second and tugs.

He pulled his hand away from his eyes, staring blankly at the counter, feeling overwarm and out of breath. He couldn’t discern the roaring in his ears from the clamor of the bar, but he started to notice that he hadn’t heard anything from the people next to him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a wobbly breath and turned his head a bit toward them, just enough to bring them back to his field of vision.

In any other circumstance, he would have laughed at the looks on their faces. They were completely gobsmacked, Eoghan’s hand on his pint had even loosened enough that it was starting to dribble onto the floor. He noted with dry satisfaction that their surprise meant he’d done a good job hiding it for this long.

“Oh Brez,” Laura said finally, as Eoghan noticed his spilling drink and cursed, distracted from his gaping. “With- with Niall?”

Bressie nodded stiffly, not trusting his voice.

“Fuck, I feel like a fucking twat,” Eoghan hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “Brez, mate, I didn’t mean those things, I take it all back, he’s not doing anything, pure as the undriven snow.”

“Eoghan, please shut up.”

“Right, sorry.”

Bressie knuckled an eye, trying to stave off the full-body shakes that were starting to make it difficult to sit still. He started to speak, but cleared his throat awkwardly instead, trying to find the words. “I know it’s… it’s fucking daft and he’s too young and I’m too old and-”

Laura cut him off immediately, waving a hand at him. “No no no, Bressie, love, he’s not a child! You’re not some old paedo, so shut up with that before I smack you.” 

Bressie snorted. “It’s a thirteen-year difference, Laura.”

“Me friend’s dad is fifteen years older than his mum! It’s not that crazy!” Eoghan jumped in, looking stubborn. In fact, both of them were looking at Bressie like he was the one not making any sense. He looked between the both of them, brows furrowing.

“Y’aren’t… please tell me you lot aren’t actually going along with this. This is… nothing can happen. He’s going to go sow his wild oats or whatever and I’ll get over this and we’re never going to discuss this again.”

Laura squawked, looking scandalized, and punched him on the arm. And then again.

“Brez, I love you, you absolutely daft, big-headed lump, but that is the _stupidest_ ” (punch) “ _thing_ ” (punch) “I’ve _ever_ heard!” (punch.)

Bressie protested weakly, but as Laura shook out her hand and winced, it seemed she’d done more damage to herself than to him. Even Eoghan was nodding, looking as serious as he ever could manage.

Coming forward, Eoghan clasped Bressie’s hands, eyes shining with determination and drink. 

“Brez, you fucking idiot, you’re going to court the everloving _shite_ out of Niall Horan and you’re going to like it.”

 

\---

2013

 

He showed up at his doorstep, blowing back into Bressie's life like the icy winter wind.

Bressie couldn’t piece together what he was seeing against what he knew couldn’t be possible. Niall was standing in front of him, dusted with snowflakes and taller than he remembered, staring at him with his jaw set and stubborn. Like he was prepared for a fight.

“Niall?” he asked dumbly, unable to put together any part of what he was thinking into a sentence. 

“Are you okay?” Niall said carefully, cutting the words into small, digestible pieces, trying desperately to sound cool-headed and level.

Bressie blinked. “Yes?” 

Niall looked confused for a second, eyes searching, looking him up and down like he was expecting something else. Suddenly, his fist flew out and caught Bressie hard on the shoulder.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Bressie yelped. Niall had been working out, that was a lot harder than he used to hit. Niall was already storming in the house, running a hand through his hair in anxious frustration.

Spinning around, he glared at Bressie, hands clenched. “They said you were sick! You were on drugs or something and freaked out in a Tesco!”

Bressie’s heart dropped into his gut. He closed the door heavily, leaning on it and dragging a hand down his face. Niall’s brow was pinched, face flushed and tense, like he wasn’t sure how to direct his energy. This probably wasn’t the way he thought he’d see Bressie again, either.

“I’m not on _fucking_ drugs, Niall.” Bressie muttered, eyes closed and hating the bitterness in his own voice. Which was worse, the fact that _that_ was the story going around, or that Niall believed it?

Niall blinked, starting to look more awkward than angry. He let his hands loosen and fall uselessly to his sides, staring at Bressie expectantly. God, he was so… him.

“It was an anxiety attack.” Bressie said, still leaning on the door and meeting Niall’s gaze, right before it dropped away in shame.

“Oh.”

“Is that what the papers are calling it? Drugs?”

Niall shifted uncomfortably, picking at the hem of his downy jacket. Bressie noticed how red his nose and cheeks were. “Some of ‘em.”

Bressie heaved a sigh and groaned. “Brilliant.”

A heavy silence fell over them, stifling and awkward. It was a foreign feeling, not knowing what to say to Niall. He hadn’t even spoken to him in the last… five months? Bressie didn’t have a chance to process it, all the secret, shoved away daydreams of what their reunion was going to be had been binned at this point.

Niall coughed. His boots were dripping onto the floor, and Bressie couldn’t bring himself to give half a damn about it.

“It’s nice to see you, chief.” he murmured honestly.

Niall snuffled and didn’t meet his eye.

“Why'd you leave, Brez?”

He could feel it like a punch in the chest, everything he’d been pretending away, catching up to him at once with this sopping boy in his living room. He couldn’t find the words to even begin to explain. “Niall...”

Niall looked up at him, gaze hard and hurt and beautiful, god, he was beautiful and it killed him from the inside out that Bressie was only able to admit this now. 

“Why did you leave? I thought- I thought that you-” Niall stammered, bottom lip quivering and Bressie could feel his whole body twitch with the effort of staying where he was, not going to hold him like he wanted to.

“Niall, we- we couldn’t. We could never be together.” Bressie managed, the words rehearsed in his head like a mantra feeling clumsy and wrong on his tongue.

Niall jerked like he’d been hit, blinking furiously. “What do you mean, we couldn’t be together?”

Bressie held out his hands helplessly. “Think about it. You’re Niall bloody Horan, international pop star. You like _girls_. You couldn’t just… be with someone like me.”

“‘Someone like-’” Niall growled in frustration, throwing his arms up. Rounding on Bressie again, he took a step forward, fire in his eyes. “Says who? The boys wouldn’t care, my parents wouldn’t care- I _like_ you, Brez.”

Bressie’s eyes fell shut, sucking in a breath at his words and tried to collect himself. “It’s not- it’s not them that I’m worried about, Niall, it’s the fans, the press… you can’t just waltz into public with a bloke and expect everyone to not care.”

“I _don’t_ care!” Niall all but shouted, eyes shining. The room fell deafeningly silent, like the second before a sonic boom. Bressie stared back at Niall, the space between them feeling impossibly far, unfathomably deep.

“I don’t care, Brez, I don’t. I can’t stand not talking to you, these past months have been hell and I can’t do it anymore.” 

The first tear that fell down Niall’s cheek hit him like a shot in the chest. His hands twitched toward him, he wanted to hold him, to comfort, to do anything but stand frozen in place.

He felt cold, numb. His heart was started to beat against his ribs like a caught bird, uneven and panicked.

“I’m sorry, Niall.” he heard himself saying, and he could do nothing but watch as he crumpled in front of him.

 

\---

2012

 

They didn’t talk about it.

They didn’t text or call.

It was almost easy, with Niall being on tour. Time passed and Bressie told himself he was doing better. He dated a bit. He worked on music, was busy with The Voice.

He tuned Eoghan and Laura out when they mentioned him. He deleted the texts that he wrote when he was too drunk or too tired or too frustrated to stop himself.

Weeks turned into months and Bressie let that part of his heart smother, like embers kicked under sand.

 

\---

2010

 

Niall left a voicemail, once.

_“Hey Brez, it’s Niall! Just- um- on a break at filming. ...Okay, I’m not supposed to be on the phone, so I gotta make this quick-_

_We’re doing well! I know you’re watching, so it’s stupid to say but I… I wanted to say it! It feels really good. Is this what it’s like for you? You get to play for those huge crowds, I’ll bet it’s ace!_

_Um- I dunno why I’m calling, really. I heard your voicemails I guess and I missed ya, head._

_I should probably go, but I just wanted to say hi._

_It’s all really mad, isn’t it?_

_Well, anyway._

_Talk to you later, Brez. Keep Mullingar in line for me.”_

 

\---

2013

 

“I told someone.”

Bressie’s head whipped up, eyes wide, but Niall was already holding up placating hands. “Someone I trust, on the team. They… they aren’t going to say anything.”

Bressie nodded stiffly, not meeting Niall’s eyes. “What’d they say?” he asked hesitantly.

Niall stared at the floor, eyes dark. His arms were crossed tight over his chest. He was so broad now, still skinny as anything, but he’d grown into the puppy-roundness of what he used to be. It hurt to look at him, like looking into the sun.

“They said… they advised against it.” Niall said, biting off the words like he didn’t want to keep them in his mouth. “That… it wasn’t anything personal, but coming out was just too big of a risk for the band. For me. That it could… hurt us. We’re not established enough, it would be too controversial, it’d be seen as a ‘statement’.” Niall spat out the word, looking more bitter than Bressie had ever seen him, pain etching on his face, still turned away. He moved to take a step forward, to comfort him, but caught himself at the last moment. “They said that even if we tried to hide it, someone would find out. I’m too high profile.”

“Niall-”

“I know! I know, you told me so.” Niall laughed humorlessly, finally bringing his head up to meet his gaze. His eyes, always so icy blue, looked even more striking against his reddened lids. He’d been crying. Bressie could feel something tear, weak as paper, in his chest and before he could think it through, he’d crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Niall’s frame. He was always shocked at just how much smaller Niall was, folding up into his embrace. He squeezed, as hard as he could stand without fear of hurting him, and buried his face in his blonde hair, productless and soft.

“No, Niall, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t- I didn’t want to be right about this.” he murmured, eyes closed and allowing himself to be close, just this once. Niall was trembling like a leaf, breath hissing hard between where his lip was trapped in his teeth, trying in vain to keep it inside. “I’m sorry, Niall. I’m so fucking sorry.”

There was a choking, wrenching sob against Bressie’s chest and he could feel as Niall fell apart completely. His hands fisted into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, shoulders shaking as he cried angry, bitter tears. “It’s not fair,” he said through gulping breaths, muffled against the collar of Bressie’s shirt, “It’s not _fair_.”

“I know.” Bressie said, voice strangled, tears threatening to fall. It wasn’t fair.

Niall pulled back suddenly, staring hard into Bressie’s face. His eyes were shining with tears that spilled down his cheeks, hectic red, lips bitten and quivering. He was so beautiful.

“I love you, Brez.” Niall said, brow knit together, holding his gaze and saying the words as fiercely as he could with his voice shaking so badly, as if he could explain everything away with those words. Bressie’s heart ached as he took Niall’s face in his hands, gently thumbing away the salty tracks on his cheeks.

“I know.” he murmured, searching Niall’s eyes, seeing them blink rapidly, fresh tears clinging to his eyelashes. “I love you too, Niall. I’ve loved you for ages.”

“It’s not fair,” Niall hiccuped.

And he kissed him.

 

\---

2011

He missed him.

He missed him when he texted, when he called, when he saw his face on those teen girl magazines that he always threatened to buy just to embarrass him.

It didn’t make sense.

So he didn’t think about it.

 

\---

2013

 

They didn’t speak when they entered the bedroom. The early evening light was casting shadows through the blinds, stripes of light spilling across the white of Niall’s duvet like prison bars. Niall’s hands were at his neck, thumbs at his pulse points, hanging onto him and pulling him down and he was kissing him and kissing him and kissing him.

Like he wouldn’t get the chance again.

Bressie was tugging at his shirt, peeling it off and throwing it without looking, hands already seeking out Niall’s to do the same. Niall caught on, stripping out of his in one fluid motion and disposing of it similarly, too busy taking in the sight of Bressie’s chest to fuss about where it landed. 

Bressie already felt like he was burning up, trying to get his own fill of Niall’s bare skin. Niall was still so much smaller than him, but his shoulders were filled out, chest broad in contrast to his tiny waist, so small that when he reached out, he could nearly fit his hands all the way around it. It made something hot and wild twist hard in Bressie’s gut. 

“Niall-” he breathed, eyes hooded and dark, thumbs dipping into the lines of his pelvis and dragging along the waistband of his pants that were peeking out of his jeans. Niall’s eyes were closing, breathing hard through his nose and flushing brilliantly, visible even in the dimming light.

“Please,” he whispered.

The jeans came next, followed swiftly by their pants until they were standing completely naked in the quiet room. They stared at each other, fingers tracing shy patterns down the divots of muscle and bluish veins, exploring and lingering and gradually letting themselves draw closer and tangle and hold.

Bressie laid Niall down carefully against the downy blanket, hair haloed around his head, looking so flushed and angelic that the air left Bressie’s lungs in a reverent rush. He surged forward, kissing him more fiercely and tried to ignore the prickling against the backs of his eyes, pushing away all thoughts but the current moment, drinking in the feeling of Niall’s fingertips digging into the muscle of his back, the smell of his shampoo, the drag of his lips and his name on his tongue. He committed it to memory, catalogued, snapshots of flushed cheeks and the crescent moon marks of fingernails in skin.

They lost time completely, sun setting as Bressie opened Niall up achingly slowly, mouth worrying bruising marks into the curve of his neck as he threw his head back, taking it all. Niall didn’t rush him, eyes shut tight and arms shaking, grip tightening with each sinking drag into his body. 

When Bressie finally pushed in, Niall was pressed up knees to chest, nails digging into Bressie’s back as the breath was punched out of his body, sounding like his name, sounding like a prayer.

Bressie could barely pull out, could barely care to. He was hyper-aware of his body, of Niall, every clench and pull and slick track of sweat, the helpless whimpers that Niall didn’t even seem to know he was making. He just rolled his hips, grinding into Niall and holding him as close as he could, face buried in the hot crook of his neck.

Niall’s moans were coming quicker now, and louder. Bressie could feel his dick, slick with precome, sliding against their bellies where it was trapped between them. He couldn’t bring his arms down to get a hand around it, so he tightened his grip, slamming into him harder and faster as close as he could, letting the friction carry him through.

Crying out, Niall cursed loudly as his hips jumped and he came, pulsing hot over their skin and body clenching hard once, twice, and again. Bressie moaned, feeling the sticky slide of come between them and finally let go, pounding into Niall hard and fast and selfish. Niall, whimpering and shivering in his arms, sensitive and taking everything he got.

Bressie felt dizzy with it, the smell of Niall, the liquid hot of his orgasm coiling in the base of his spine and the desperate, maddening feeling of Niall holding onto him, small and pliant and perfect. He wanted to be here. He wanted this to be tonight and tomorrow and forever.

He was silent when he came, wrapping Niall up even tighter in his arms, holding him as close as he could and knowing it would never, ever be close enough.

 

\---

2012

 

_Missed Call: Niall Horan_  
 _Missed Call: Niall Horan_  
 _New Voicemail: Niall Horan_

 

\---

2013

 

It wasn’t quite dawn when Bressie slipped from the covers.

He didn’t look at Niall as he dressed, he didn’t look at the way his eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, he didn’t listen to his low, deep breaths as he slept, or the way the red, blooming marks on his neck matched the ones on his chest, and the ones on his hips.

He zipped his jacket, he put on his shoes, and he didn’t look back at the way the sunrise was sparkling through the window and painting across the gold in Niall’s hair.

He didn’t think about the way he laughed.

He didn’t think about the callouses on his fingers.

He didn’t think about the way he said his name.

Bressie left.

And he tried to remember how to breathe.

 

\---

2012

 

“I’m not discussing this in the middle of a bar, in the middle of the night. It’s not happening. It can’t happen.” Bressie said, voice rising, feeling slightly hysterical.

Eoghan and Laura looked unimpressed at best and pitying at worst, like Bressie was being simple. 

“Brez, what happened to the bloke who writes love songs for a living? Where’s your sense of adventure? Of true love?” Laura cooed, shaking his shoulder just a bit too hard to be comforting.

“He’s- he’s _Niall_ , Laura, he’s not just some guy. He probably doesn’t even like blokes… that much. He probably wouldn’t like me.” Bressie said, voice betraying him and going sad and soft at the end. He was too drunk for this conversation.

It was Eoghan’s turn to look bewildered. “Mate, are you kidding?”

Bressie blinked. “What?”

Eoghan grabbed him on the shoulders, holding his gaze and speaking slowly like Bressie wouldn’t be able to understand him otherwise.

“Niall’s liked you for years, Breslin. Like, ever since he showed up at your door with a guitar.”

Something in Bressie’s chest twitched and unfurled.

“What?” he repeated intelligently.

Eoghan sighed and rolled his eyes. “Brez, mate, he already knew how to play. He just wanted to hang out with you.” Eoghan’s eyes were still slightly pitying, but sincere. Laura was nodding behind him.

“It was always you.”

Bressie took a shaky breath, not quite seeing anything in front of him. He’d never even considered an option beyond what he thought was an immovable “no”. But. This was… new.

This was maybe.

His heart was tapping out a rhythm, like a bird in a cage, beating itself against his ribs in a way that felt dangerously, terrifyingly like hope.


End file.
